


Of Amber Light and Shadows

by LukeVonCastiel



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Guild Wars 2: Heart of Thorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13837032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukeVonCastiel/pseuds/LukeVonCastiel
Summary: What does it mean to be a child? What does it mean to die? The young Firstborn Trahearne and Riannoc understand neither of these things, childhood and death just concepts found in tales of Ronan, of Orr, of other peoples and places.Yet when Riannoc encounters the orphaned child Waine, suffering from a life of banditry and abuse, he takes him as his squire regardless.It is a choice that will lead the sylvari down a path of love, loss, and hard lessons. What does it mean to be young? What does it mean to be hurt? What does it mean to live, and ultimately, to die?





	Of Amber Light and Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I first started this fic at the end of October 2013. I kept stopping and starting until I eventually finished it May 2017. Now I've finally edited it enough that I feel I can share it. I hope you enjoy it. It means quite a bit to me.
> 
> This fic features a brief part from the Valiant's perspective (the sylvari player character). The pronoun 'they' is used. Some dialogue from the game itself is utilised to better keep the fic in line with canon as I intended. A few quotes from Riannoc, and much of the Valiant and Branthyn's dialogue (which is only a small part of this story).

"Trahearne?"  
  
"Over here dear."  
  
Riannoc turned toward the voice, a soft smile on his face. With deft limbs he darted through the luminescent undergrowth, his own form glowing bright as the flora around him. Moving through the trees he reached out to his lover, sent feelings of affection flowing down their empathic link. A tender warmth flowed back, a little distant. He must have been distracted.  
  
The distance did not perturb Riannoc however, and he pushed aside the last of the branches around him to reveal the clearing beyond. Trees of all sizes and colours surrounded a small lake, the surface reflecting the glow of both plants and stars. At its edge sat Trahearne, his legs submerged in the water, his eyes on the night sky.  
  
"Have I interrupted deep thoughts, love?" Riannoc asked, his grin growing as he crossed the clearing. He dropped beside Trahearne, brushing against his legs as he dipped his own in the lake.  
  
"I am not sure they were deep," Trahearne murmured, still looking at the sky, "and an interruption from you is rarely unwelcome." He turned to look at Riannoc then, lips quirking upward.  
  
The look in Trahearne's eyes was warm, a comforting gold, bright against the cool shades of the night. Riannoc leant forward, his hand moving over Trahearne's as they kissed, a soft brush of lips, over in moments. He pulled back, grin returning. He never tired of seeing his beloved's cheeks darken, a deep blush brought about by the simple joy of being near one another.  
  
"I was..." Trahearne began, trailing off as he looked down at their entwined fingers. Riannoc let him have quiet, just held his hand a little tighter. "I was thinking of Ronan."  
  
Riannoc's eyes widened. Ronan's story was one all the Firstborn knew. The human had returned from battle to find his village destroyed and his family murdered. In his grief he planted the Pale Tree's seed on the graves of his loved ones and laid down his weapons. There the centaur Ventari had joined him and the two spent the rest of their days nurturing the Pale Tree, providing a safe haven for all who passed their way, and creating the foundations of what would become the Grove. It was a sad story, and an inspiring one, yet it was not at all what Riannoc had expected.  
  
"Why do you think of such sad things, dear?" He murmured, taking up the other's hand. He kissed each knuckle softly before sliding closer and pulling Trahearne into his arms. The movement caused ripples to spread over the lake, shattering its stillness and blurring the bright reflections into a mess of light.  
  
"I do not think of sad things, love," Trahearne smiled softly, leaning into Riannoc's arms. "Not all of Ronan's life was a tragedy, nor was it all spent as a man of peace. No, I think of the time before."  
  
"Before?" Riannoc asked curiously, fingers drifting through Trahearne's hair.  
  
"Before the war and all that tragedy, before the planting of the Mother Tree. The time he spent with his beloved and his children..." Trahearne trailed off, voice drifting away into silence. Riannoc felt his thoughts shift, emotions morphing into something not quite sad, but still tinged with melancholy.  
  
"You said you did not think of sad things," Riannoc said, pulling back slightly to look down at his beloved. "Yet something heavy weighs upon your thoughts."  
  
"It isn't something heavy dear, just something strange," Trahearne murmured. "Though we are made in the image of humans, we are so very different from them, and children..." He paused. "To think there is a stage in the life of others that none of us will ever know is an odd thing indeed."  
  
"And?" Riannoc pressed, catching the other's eyes. Trahearne smiled and shook his head, as if he believed his thoughts were foolish. "What else about children?"  
  
"I just...a part of me wonders what it would be like to have one," Trahearne sighed. "It is not something I truly desire, I think. More a curiosity. But even if we could have children, I do not know if it would be wise for us."  
  
"Why?" Riannoc placed a hand on Trahearne's face, an ache growing in his chest. "Why would it not be wise for us?"  
  
Trahearne looked up at him, one hand sliding soothingly down Riannoc's back. He shrugged.  
  
"I do not think we would be able to care for them. I must journey to Orr, and when I return I bring only sorrow and its corruption, and whatever knowledge I can glean from shambling corpses and shattered ruins. You protect the Grove, venturing out into the world to deal with the threats posed by Zhaitan and all other creatures of evil. We live dangerous lives, my love. Would you want to bring a child into that? And what if we fell? Who then would take care of them?"  
  
Riannoc remained silent, Trahearne's words heavy upon his heart. He spoke truth and wisdom as he often did, but still Riannoc could feel the bitterness that dripped from them into the Dream. Did they truly want a child? Perhaps not, but the knowledge that they never could if that changed was hard to swallow.  
  
"I have made things unpleasant," Trahearne said, turning away to look over the lake once more. "I am sorry dear, I did not mean for this. I only thought of Ronan and—"  
  
Riannoc turned to face him once more, a finger on his lips to silence him. He still felt that weight upon his heart, could feel it mirrored in Trahearne's, but he would not allow it to trouble them any longer.  
  
"It is alright, my love. It is better to discuss this than to let it overwhelm you. I would rather talk about all your thoughts and worries then have to stand by and watch them consume you, unable to share your burdens." His lips quirked into a smile. "Besides, not all families need children."  
  
"That is true," Trahearne murmured, "and there are many children without families too. Perhaps one day—"  
  
"They will find a family in us," Riannoc finished, leaning forward to press his forehead against his lover's. The two sat together in peace for a moment, the only movement a soft breeze that tickled the leaves and sent tiny ripples across the lake's surface.  
  
The quiet did not last though, as the sound of rustling trees permeated the air. A bright bubble of joy burst into the Dream, as Aife leapt into the clearing with a large grin on her face. Her usual clothes were replaced with a dress of petals, its red, orange and gold standing in stark contrast to the cool scenery of the lake.  
  
"Sister?" Riannoc laughed, as Aife crossed the clearing to stand before them. She spread her arms out and then gave an exaggerated bow, so different to the dignified performance she put on for others.  
  
"Brothers, attend!" She said. "There is a most important affair occurring this night, an affair at which your presence is required."  
  
"An important affair?" Trahearne asked, raising a brow.  
  
"A dance!" Aife winked, before holding out her hands. "A function of frivolous, festive frolicking for our family to enjoy."  
  
"A function of frivolous, festive frolicking?" Trahearne said as he and Riannoc took her hands and stood. "Dear sister how long did it take you to perfect that?"  
  
"Now now, it spoils the fun to share my secrets," Aife answered enigmatically, before turning away. "To Ronan's Bower! We have much merriment to partake in and not enough hours in the night."  
  
"Then we shall have to run," Riannoc chuckled, before taking Trahearne's hand in his own and rushing off, all thoughts of their earlier conversation swept away in preparation for the song and dance soon to come.  
  


❧❧❧

 

Riannoc never tired of Divinity's Reach.  
  
Curling his toes against the cobblestones, he smiled at the heat its cracked surface contained. The memories of all sorts of humans rushed over its surface; noblemen in their fancy coats, bickering about the affairs of the day. Children with chalks, drawing all manner of strange things that sprang forth from their imaginations. Young lovers dancing across the circular plazas as they whispered sweet nothings and laughed. Beggar boys lifting coins from greedy purses, Seraph chasing criminals down the long streets, and old heroes walking alongside the young, sharing tales both fresh and faded with time.  
  
A sniff of the air sent other images rushing through his head. The smell of fresh bread from a nearby baker, and flowers just-plucked and arranged into bouquets. The thick aromas of sweat and sewerage wafted and met with that of flowing water, all stewed together with the ever present scent of ale.  
  
Sounds of laughter as two young men tumbled past in a drunken mess. Sounds of fighting, as several nobles agitated one another over this topic and that. Sounds of gossiping, as a group of young commoners discussed the latest gown worn by Princess Jennah.  
  
So much history lay within the walls of Divinity's Reach, so much life. Here, Riannoc was sure, at least one member of each of humanity's nations lived. Representatives of all cultures, mingling in a city of valor, kindness, and honour, of treachery, cruelty, and dishonesty. Poverty and riches, beauty and horror, love and hate.  
  
"No wonder my sisters visit so often!" Riannoc laughed to himself, ignoring the strange looks he received. He was used to the curious glances others gave him, as his people were still rare and few. It did not bother him as it bothered Trahearne and Caithe. Perhaps that was because he noticed it less, more interested in satisfying his own curiosity and forming friendships than fearing the judgement of the other races.  
  
With a grin on his face, Riannoc looked about. His eyes darted, feet twitching to be off. What streets to walk, what paths to wander? He had visited a few times before and yet still seen so little of the enormous city.  
  
From the corner of his eyes, he saw a shape shift. Turning, he watched as a small flower drifted from a young gentleman's arms, one tiny daisy from a bundle of many. Before Riannoc could move the man was gone, but he approached the fallen flower nonetheless.  
  
"Poor thing," he murmured, as he bent to pick it up. "Moving with such speed, he must intend to give those to someone much loved. Yet here you are, little daisy, with no hope to see the one he would gift you to."  
  
Then he shook his head and smiled once more, placing the flower in his hair. "Well where life goes, so too should you. Come, daisy, let us see what this path has to offer us." With a skip in his step, he followed the path the boy had run down, moving amongst the people rather easily. They often stood aside for him, eyes wide as he passed. He waved and grinned, and they chattered excitedly in his wake.  
  
"Mister Tree!" A voice called out. Riannoc stopped and looked down at the speaker, a tiny girl with bright eyes and a sweet, sticky roll in her hand. He smiled and knelt down next to her.  
  
"What can I do for you, little one?"  
  
"Are you really a tree?" She asked, reaching out to touch the leaves of his hair. Her hand found the flower so recently placed there. "Did you grow that?"  
  
"No, dear, I did not grow this pretty bloom," he answered softly, removing the white daisy from behind his ear, "and I am one of the sylvari, awakened from the pods of the Pale Tree."  
  
"Huh..." the little girl chewed her lip, looking from Riannoc's face to the daisy in his hand. "Okay." Her features screwed up as she tried to understand, eyebrows furrowing together before she sighed. "Mister Sylvari, can you eat food?"  
  
Riannoc laughed gently. "My name is Riannoc, little one, and I eat the same foods as you and all other humans." The girl poked at his knee as he spoke, as if to see what it were made of. Then she looked up and a big, toothy grin blossomed on her face.  
  
"You want my roll then, Mister Riannoc?" She stretched out the hand holding the treat. "I'm not that hungry and 'sides, I reckon you've never had one of these before. They're special! They've got hot apples inside!"  
  
Riannoc smiled, delighted by the generosity and sweetness of the child.  
  
"You honour me with your gift, little one, but it is only fair I give you something in return." The girl's eyes lit up as Riannoc deftly wove the daisy into her dark curls. He was gentle, fingers careful not to tug too hard.  
  
"There, a beautiful bloom for a beautiful maiden whose heart is kind and valiant! May it bless you with the same sweet surprises as it has blessed me." Then he held out his hand and the child placed the roll in it, giggling brightly as she did so. "Thank you, little flower."  
  
"Thank you Mister Riannoc!" The girl exclaimed, hand touching the flower in her hair before she shot off, rushing over to her mother with a squeal of delight.  
  
Joy bubbling in his chest, Riannoc stood once more and continued on his way. As he passed through the throngs of people, bustling about their busy lives, he ate his sweet roll; warm apple, sweet bread, and cinnamon flavours burst on his tongue. The girl was right, he had never tasted anything quite like it before. It was delicious, and something he intended to recreate for his beloved upon his return to the Grove.  
  
"You will love it, dearheart," he murmured, mind wandering to his beloved as he finished off the last of his sweet roll. Then he paused, steps halting, and licked the last of its flavour from his lips.  
  
Ahead lay a fork in the road, one path continuing along a brightly lit route upon which the majority of people walked. Along its side many small stalls and shops sold their wares and groups of humans gathered to talk about the happenings of the day. At the end lay the city's inner circle, where the noise died down and the air gained a more mystical quality - so long as one stood away from the ministerial gatherings.  
  
The other path was more a series of dark alleys than a road, filled with dirt and shadows and broken barrels. Garbage and waste accumulated in its corners, along with an assortment of rodents and insects all vying for the scraps humanity had tossed aside. It was unpleasant and smelt awful, yet something drew Riannoc to it.  
  
It was only as he entered the oppressive space that he realised it was a noise. A small whimpering sound, muffled by the darkness and the looming buildings all around. Swallowing thickly, Riannoc moved forward. Though he did not share an empathic link with humans, the sound of their tears still tore at his heart. One did not need to be connected through the Dream to feel another's pain, or seek to comfort them.  
  
He stepped carefully over a piece of shattered wood, aware of every sound around him. He knew that sudden noises could easily frighten a person, especially a sad one. With soft, quick movements he maneuvered through the alleyway and rounded a small bend between the buildings.  
  
Further in the passage, half-buried in splintered crates and rotten food, a small boy sat. It was difficult to see him in the shadows as he was, crying into his knees with his thin arms curled around them. His breath caught on a sob and Riannoc's heart felt as if it were bleeding in his chest.  
  
"Friend?"  
  
He had only whispered the word but the boy reacted as if he had shouted. He stood up immediately, spinning around and knocking over more garbage. His tiny hands slipped into his pocket and drew forth a knife. It was a tiny blade, barely even a dagger, but he gripped it tightly, knuckles white against the hilt.  
  
_He's terrified._  
  
Riannoc stood back, hands raised and away from his own sheathed weapon. He had no intention of using it, even if the boy attacked him. It would be as if a lion bared its fangs to a mouse when it could simply hold out a paw to stop it. Dishonourable, vain, and so very cruel.  
  
"Friend, I mean no harm," he said, holding his arms out in a gesture of peace. The boy frowned, confused by his words and appearance. He did not lower his dagger.  Riannoc remained undeterred, offering a gentle smile. "I approach you with only good intentions, that I swear on the Mother Tree."  
  
The boy remained wary, but his scared sniffles and frightened glare had faded, replaced instead with the furrowed brow and wrinkled nose typical of confused children. He lowered his dagger just a little, cocking his head to the side.  
  
"What in the name of Balthazar's a Mother Tree an' why should I trust anything you swear by it?" His voice was thick with the tears he'd shed. Riannoc's eyes widened.  
  
The boy spoke as the street rogues and bandits did — or at least the ones he had encountered. Rough and blunt, with an arrogant edge. The only difference was the tears, and the youthful treble of his voice.  
  
"My friend, I am of the sylvari," Riannoc said, "The Mother Tree is our parent and teacher, our guiding light. It is from her pods we awakened, and it is beneath her boughs we rest. She gives us hope and love and—"  
  
"Wait wait!" The boy interrupted. "So...you're one of them tree folks? The ones people've been whisperin' 'bout?" Riannoc saw his eyes flit up and down, truly taking in his form  flesh of leaves and bark and petals. "I didn't — I thought they were lying!"  
  
Riannoc smiled, somewhat amused by the boy's sudden awe. He appeared to have forgotten his fear and sorrow, and his rage, as he stared openly. With a hesitant step he moved toward Riannoc, lowering his dagger and gawking.  
  
Then a rat scurried through the garbage, its small feet skittering across the dirt, and the boy's arm shot back up, dagger gripped in hand.  
  
"But what if you're lyin'?" He hissed. "You could be a mes', or an actor. Could be dye or pigment or stuck-on leaves!" His hand shook and his eyes narrowed; haunted. Riannoc wondered what sort of dark things had been done to leave this boy with such terrible eyes.  
  
_I will simply have to prove to him I am no threat._ It could be an easy task, or a difficult one. Riannoc knew he could appear threatening. He was tall and strong, armoured and armed. He was built as a warrior was and his face could appear as that of a knight. But he found that few people ever feared him.  
  
_'You are warm, my lover. Warm and bright, good and kind. None could ever mistake you for a tyrant, nor any man with a malicious heart. There is no ruthlessness or cruelty in you, only honour and love.'_  
  
_Let us hope you are right, my love,_ he thought, lowering himself to the ground. It was a graceful movement, odd perhaps for one who seemed as an oak tree, not a bowing reed. Still he sat on the ground, amongst the scrap, and smiled cheerfully at the boy.  
  
"I am no actor, friend, nor a mesmer. I am simply Riannoc. Come, you may ascertain for yourself the truth of my form. I can only ask you be gentle, though I am not afraid to bleed."  
  
The boy remained still for a moment. Riannoc could see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes, open as a child's often were. Though he tried to veil them his fear came forth; fear and hate. It unsettled Riannoc to see the shadows there, but it brought him comfort to know that perhaps the boy could be taught otherwise.  
  
_Children can change more than most,_ he thought. Words he had heard before. _Dagonet. Those were his words, after a trip to this very place._ Children were odd creatures, something a sylvari could never be. But if the nature of children allowed them to be freed from dark shackles more easily than any other then Riannoc could only appreciate their oddness.  
  
_'I just...a part of me wonders what it would be like to have one...'_ Trahearne's voice in his mind, from some time ago. He recalled his own words.  
  
_'They will find a family in us.'_  
  
The boy approached, slowly. Like a cornered animal he was wary and scared, a cowardice instilled so that one might survive. But still he came, dagger held forward but lowered. Riannoc watched him, even as he stopped a little way away.  
  
"Your weapon..." he muttered, glancing aside. "That sword could skewer me. Split me in 'alf an' cut me up easier than butter." Riannoc glanced at his weapon. It was true, but he had already made it clear he had no intention to use it. Even if the boy stabbed him with his tiny blade Riannoc would never draw it. Still the boy trembled.  
  
Standing for a moment, he removed his sword from its sheathe and placed it on the ground just out of his reach, then returned to his spot and sat once more. He gave the boy another smile. It was only then the child pocketed his weapon and approached, hand outstretched.  
  
The first touch was a delicate thing, though the boy's hands were scratched and calloused. He placed them atop Riannoc's head, touching the foliage that grew there. He tugged a little at one of the leaves, perhaps a little harder than necessary, but it did not tear nor truly hurt, and the boy's eyes grew wider.  
  
"They're real," he murmured, moving his hands to poke at Riannoc's face. Riannoc could not contain his laughter as the child prodded his cheeks and the branches that protruded from his chin and brow. "And that's real!" The boy moved to his right side, touching his shoulders. "You're actually a plant!"  
  
"Indeed I am," Riannoc replied.  
  
The child moved behind him, into his blind spot. Riannoc remained calm, though his ears were alert. The boy ceased to touch him. Then he lunged.  
  
He took Riannoc's sword, snatching it up and bolting down the alleyway. Riannoc was faster though, and grabbed hold of the boy by his waist, hoisted him up off the ground. The boy dropped the sword and began to flail.  
  
"Let me go let me go let me go!" He cried.  
  
"If you cease your kicking I will," Riannoc said, "though I would be most grateful if you let me voice a question first, before you flee." The boy glared down at him, but he did still himself. Carefully, Riannoc placed him on the ground. The boy didn't flee though his entire being was tense.  
  
"May I ask why you did that?" Riannoc watched the boy. He glanced to the side, to the ground, everywhere but his eyes. When he finally met them, they were scared again; a mouse before a lion.  
  
"Needed...needed to," was all he said. Riannoc sighed.  
  
"Why did you need to?"  
  
"Because I failed."  
  
"Failed?"  
  
"I failed my job!" The boy shouted, fists clenched. "They told me I needed to grab some gold from some snooty ol' noblelass an' I mucked it up. Got caught by another gang who threatened me an' then got chased around for several days. I was with another guy but — but he's dead now. Dead an' I'm dead if I don't snatch something else to make the boss happy. Y'got to keep the boss happy."  
  
All fell quiet. Riannoc did not speak. The child did not speak. Even the sounds of the city seemed muted in the alley. Riannoc looked down at the boy, heart heavy. Slowly he bent to retrieve his sword, cringing when the boy flinched. He sheathed his weapon then knelt before the child.  
  
"Friend, what is your name?" He asked. The boy looked up at him confused, then turned away.  
  
"Waine. Not sure if that's what my parents would've called me, but it's what the gang do."  
  
"Waine," Riannoc said. "Would you like to come with me?"  
  
 The boy's head shot up, his jaw hanging open. He blinked a few times, as if unable to believe what he'd just been asked.  
  
"Are you dumb? I just tried to steal from you! Why would you just invite me to come along with you to — wait, are you handing me to the Seraph?"  
  
Riannoc shook his head, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder to prevent him from fleeing.  
  
"No. I would take you to my home, the Grove. It lies beneath the boughs of the Mother Tree. It is a place of warmth and safety and great beauty."  
  
Waine looked at him incredulously. "Why would you take me there, when I tried to steal from you?"  
  
"Because," Riannoc grinned, "I would like you to be my squire. Come with me, Waine, and learn of all the good in this world. Learn to protect yourself. Learn to fight. Discover valour and honour, and dignity. Come with me and you will never need to steal or fear bandits ever again."  
  
"I — what? Why?"  
  
"Because you deserve a chance, Waine. A chance to have better. A chance to be better."  
  
Waine stared at Riannoc for a long moment. No rodents scampered through the waste littering the ground and the voices of the city's residents felt distant again. It was as if a blanket had been thrown over the two; the valiant knight and the bandit boy.  
  
"Only you can choose to be better, Waine," Riannoc whispered. Then slowly he turned, showed his back to the boy. It was his choice. Whether to attack or flee or stay or follow. He took a few steps toward the alley's opening and for a moment the only sound behind him was silence.  
  
Then like a scampering mouse Waine rushed to his side.  
  
Riannoc smiled.  
  


❧❧❧

 

Trahearne hummed softly to himself as he leafed through the pages of a dusty, old tome. It was an incredibly delicate piece; a rare book from a chest in Orr that had survived the Cataclysm, the Rising, and also several attacks by some sort of domestic cat, if the tiny claw marks on the cover were to be believed.  
  
He ceased his work when he heard the sound of familiar footfalls entering the house. Carefully covering the book to prevent further damage, he turned in his seat to face the door.  
  
"Trahearne?" Riannoc's voice was more hesitant than usual. Through their bond Trahearne could feel a hint of trepidation, as if he feared his judgement. Why would Riannoc need fear his judgement?  
  
"Riannoc?" Trahearne asked, though his question remained unvoiced. He saw his beloved enter, pushing past the door's petals with a flower in his hand. His smile was warm but wavering.  
  
"I, uh, Trahearne I'd like you to meet someone," Riannoc said, chuckling apprehensively. Then he stepped aside, revealing a small human child. The boy was grubby, clothes filthy and dark hair matted and dirty. His skin was covered in scratches and his black eyes looked nervous. Trahearne stared at the child.  
  
"Uh, hi." The boy's voice was rough as any rogue's.  
  
"I have taken him as my squire," Riannoc explained. "His name is Waine and he has no home so I brought him here."  
  
Trahearne continued to stare. He could feel Riannoc through the Dream, desperately trying to make him understand. _He needs protecting, love. He needs a safe place to get better. To become better. You and I know love will overcome the evil this child has faced, this child could become._ Traheane heard it and took it all in.  
  
Then he rose.  
  
"Hello Waine." He attempted a smile and bowed. "I am Trahearne. It is a pleasure to met you."  
  
"Um, thanks?" Waine looked to Riannoc, who gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, then turned to smile at Trahearne. Trahearne gave him a level look.  
  
_We'll discuss this later.  
  
_

❧❧❧

 

"Riannoc, I'm not sure this is a good idea," Trahearne stated plainly, lying beside his lover. In the corner of the room Waine lay sleeping, his bed a hammock strung up between two small posts. The boy had gasped at how comfortable it was and Riannoc had delighted in tossing plush petal cushions at him.  
  
Riannoc shifted to look at him, running a hand softly down his face. Trahearne managed a tired smile. In the dark his beloved's eyes glowed bright, but he could see in them his anxiety, coiled up tight.  
  
"I will not demand the boy leaves, my dear, so do not worry," he murmured. "The child is your squire, and so long as you both wish it I see no reason he should go. I only wonder if this is the wisest course of action."  
  
"I couldn't leave him there Trahearne," Riannoc said. "From what I saw, and what he said, it's clear his life has been one of only pain and misfortune. He has lived beneath the heels of bandits and learnt their ways, but he could change." He pushed himself up onto an elbow, looking pleadingly down at Trahearne. "They take advantage of him, love. I could not stand to let that happen, not to anyone, least of all a child."  
  
"Do we even understand what a child is, dearheart?" Trahearne questioned. "I know I once said I was curious, that I would not be averse to having one and raising them but..."  
  
"Then let us raise him love. You once spoke of children without families, without homes. You said perhaps they could find a home with us."  
  
"I..." Trahearne sighed, leaning back against the pillow. He brought a hand to the bridge of his nose and squeezed lightly. "Forgive me. I did once say that. But I also worried that we might not be present enough to be suitable parents. We risk our lives often Riannoc."  
  
"Trahearne," Riannoc whispered, pulling close to him. "I do not intend to perish. We will not perish. The Mother Tree believes in us and I trust in her. I trust in you."  
  
Trahearne lay still, unsure. His eyes passed over the child sleeping in the corner. He was such a small thing, thin and fragile. His voice was rough but still young. In some ways he was similar to a sapling just emerged from their pod. The two were not quite the same, but there was something like innocence in both.  
  
But Waine was as a sylvari would be if touched by some darkness in the Dream. It was not the boy's fault. Trahearne doubted he had been given any true choices in the life he had led.  
  
"If he truly lived with bandits, you are aware of what he'll do," Trahearne murmured. "He'll steal, or try to, and he'll lurk and sneak. He won't be honourable or kind. He'll be what bandits are taught to be. Nasty when it suits and cowardly when it doesn't."  
  
"I know," Riannoc said, kissing Trahearne on the forehead. "I know what he is Trahearne, but I also know this. He _will_ become better. We will make him better. Now sleep, dear. Everything else can wait 'til morning."  
  
With heavy eyes Trahearne agreed and snuggled close to Riannoc. He fell asleep to the sounds of the Grove and a small child's snoring.  
  


❧❧❧

 "Parry!"  
  
Trahearne glanced up from his work to see Waine fall back on the grass, dropping his sword and covering his head with his hands.  
  
"Yield! I yield!" He cried. Riannoc stood above him, practise sword held loose in hand. Trahearne could see him contain a sigh, inhaling deeply before kneeling down beside the boy. With a gentle tap on the shoulder Waine unfurled, removing his hands from his head and biting down on his lip.  
  
"That wasn't quite a parry," Riannoc said, chuckling lightly. Trahearne could feel his concern, the faintest hint of frustration. He watched his lover help Waine to his feet, retrieving the boy's wooden sword and placing it back in his hand. "Come, let us try one more time, then we shall have a short reprieve."  
  
Waine frowned, brows knit together. Still he raised the sword, though the arm that supported it was trembling hard. Riannoc moved back and the two took up their stances once more. Trahearne closed his book, shifting in his seat for a better view.  
  
Waine moved first. He lunged forward, thrusting his sword at Riannoc. Riannoc caught his blade with his own and deflected the blow, before stepping around Waine and lightly slicing his sword across the child's back. Waine gasped and whirled, his sword spinning with him. Riannoc blocked it and pushed him back, creating space between the two of them. Then he stepped forward and jabbed at Waine.  
  
"Ugh!" Waine grunted, flinching back before the blow hit, smacking Riannoc's sword aside with his own. Trahearne's eyes widened, as did Riannoc's own, as the boy managed to land a blow against Riannoc's arm before darting back.  
  
"Waine that was excellent!" Riannoc exclaimed brightly, dropping his sword on the ground so he could place both his hands on the boy's shoulders. "You're improving!" Trahearne smiled at the sight, though it quickly faded as Waine shrugged off Riannoc's hands.  
  
"Still..." he mumbled, shaking his head. Whatever he said, Riannoc heard, for he tilted the boy's head up and looked him sharply in the eyes.  
  
"One does not learn swordplay in a day, Waine, just as one does not learn to overcome their fear in that same time. You have progressed well for one who has only studied the art for a mere month. There is still much time." Then he clapped him on the back and grinned. "Besides, it is time for our break. We have earnt it, I think. Come, let us have lunch with Trahearne! Dearheart, shall we eat together?"  
  
Trahearne nodded, placing his books to the side. Riannoc walked past him, ducking his head for a quick kiss before continuing inside to collect their food. Trahearne glanced after him, before turning back to Waine.  
  
A chill ran down his spine. The boy's eyes were dilated and his small form shook. His practise sword lay on the ground and his hands were in his pockets. From where he sat, Trahearne could see them moving, gripping something. Then Waine exhaled and calmed, and managed an awkward smile as he walked toward the table.  
  
_As a small toy or dim light brings comfort to others, a dagger brings comfort to you. A weapon to fight, glinting trinkets to sell. A place to run and hide._ Trahearne watched the human, a strange chill in his stomach.  
  
_The fear in you is strong and dark. It will take more than a month of swordplay to replace a life of banditry and abuse._  
  
"Waine—" He began, but Riannoc returned and he felt his desire to address the issue falter and fade. His beloved believed he could help the boy. He trusted him, protected him, trained him. In the short span of time Riannoc had truly taken to the boy.  
  
_He knows him better than I do..._  
  
But the thought did not ease him.  
  


❧❧❧

 

Trahearne passed through the petals of his door, feet silent as he entered the house. He had learnt from his time in Orr the value of soft steps and found that it was a habit he could not break, even in safe places.  
  
"Riannoc?" He called, stopping by one of their home's many benches. He removed a small orb from his pocket along with several scrawled notes — his research for the day. He heard a noise further in the house, but received no response. Brow furrowed he followed the sound, halting just outside the bedroom's threshold.  
  
Waine sat on the floor, head in his hands. At his feet lay several small gems; artefacts and magical items mixed and commingled with precious gifts. He rocked back and forth, muttering something over and over. Trahearne frowned, stepping into the room.  
  
"Waine." The boy froze, twisting his head slowly to the side. For a moment there was only silence, then Waine pushed himself up, posture like a wary beast's. Trahearne remained where he was. "What are you doing?"  
  
Waine snorted. "What does it look like, you stupid plant! I was sneakin' through your stuff!" Trahearne pursed his lips and said nothing. Waine huffed and waited. Neither spoke and the air grew tense until finally Trahearne shook his head.  
  
"Waine, sit." It was not a command but Waine obeyed all the same. As soon as he did, all the fight fled from him. He placed his head back in his hands and cursed quietly. "Why were you going through my things?"  
  
Waine mumbled a reply.  
  
"Waine—"  
  
"I was going to snatch something!" Waine shouted. "Alright? I was gonna snatch something shiny."  
  
"And what were you going to do with it once you'd taken it?"  
  
"I — I was going to — uh, going to..." the child trailed off. "I just wanted something. In case things went wrong. It helps to have something." Waine stopped, rubbing his eyes. Trahearne sighed and went to him, sitting on the edge of his bed.  
  
"Stealing is wrong, Waine. You shouldn't take what doesn't belong to you."  
  
"But—"  
  
"But?"  
  
"But...that's what I had to do," Waine muttered. "If I wanted to eat I had to steal. If you don't steal, then you gotta be killin' or hittin' and I wasn't very good at that. So I stole. And if you stole extra you could sell it..."  
  
Trahearne listened solemnly. He knew, of course. He'd known from the moment Riannoc had brought Waine home as his squire. But it had been six months since then, and though at first Waine had stolen small things from their home, he had improved over time. He had been attempting to grow beyond his fears, beyond his past.  
  
But Trahearne knew better than most the act of relapsing. How many times had he startled at the sound of someone behind him for fear it was a Risen? Though he had worked so hard to stifle it he could not stop himself entirely.  
  
"Waine, you don't need to steal anymore," he said. "You will always be clothed and fed here. Anything you need we will provide. We're not going to toss you out into Caledon Forest, not unless you do something particularly heinous."  
  
"An' if I did something particularly heinous?" He asked.  
  
"Are you?" Trahearne countered. "Are you going to do something heinous?" Waine did not respond, eyes on his feet. Then he slowly shook his head.  
  
"It's just — just that you don't get it," he mumbled. "You sylvari don't. You haven't been around as long as we humans have. You haven't seen what we've seen, been through what we've been through. You fall off your pretty pods from your pretty mama in your pretty Grove. You don't — you don't see your mama get — and your papa. You don't get orphaned an' you don't grow up like I do. Like kids. You're always adults, never kids. An' you don't get it. You don't get how ugly it gets."  
  
Waine glanced up at Trahearne, face twisted. If it weren't for the glisten of tears Trahearne would think he was angry. But he wasn't. He was just sad. Sad and scared and frustrated. His small hands shook, knuckles white from where he gripped the bed.  
  
"You're right, Waine," Trahearne murmured. "We cannot understand what it's like to be a child. We cannot understand what humanity has been through, though we can learn and empathise. But it's not perfect here. We're not born perfect, though we do learn things in the Dream. But we do not awaken perfect, nor do we ever become perfect. We often falter and fear. The world is so strange. It's large and terrifying and we don't really know our place in it. We can only do what we must do. We can only try to be good and just and kind and brave. To remember Ventari's Teachings and the Pale Mother's wisdom."  
  
He gave Waine a small smile. It was somewhat forced but he had to try. He was not as talented as his beloved when it came to dealing with emotions. He could only speak what truth he knew and try to make it encouraging. He could not weave words as Aife or Dagonet, nor speak in gentle soothing tones as Kahedins. Yet Waine seemed to listen and his face softened.  
  
"Riannoc says you go to Orr," he said quietly. "Even I've heard of Orr, an' I don't know the first thing about readin' or writin'. It's a bad place, an ugly place full of dead things. But you go there. You study it."  
  
"Yes I do," Trahearne said. "I must. It is my calling, my Wyld Hunt. I cannot say if humans have anything like it. Perhaps it would be apt to compare it to a gut instinct; one you cannot ignore. You simply know you must do the task the Dream has appointed to you."  
  
"So your Dream makes you go to Orr? Why?"  
  
"I must...cleanse it." Trahearne's heart fell. The thought of his Hunt rarely brought him comfort; only a deep sense of misery he knew he must contain. "Remove the Elder Dragon Zhaitan's corruption and turn it green once more."  
  
Waine stared at him.  
  
"But that's — can you do that?' He asked incredulously. Trahearne inhaled deeply, glancing up at the roof for a moment.  
  
"I must believe I can," he said. "As you must believe you can leave behind your cowardice, Waine. Your kleptomania. Your violence born of fear. We must believe we can overcome things, Waine, otherwise we will be overwhelmed by them."  
  
"Hard ground makes stronger roots?" Waine sighed. Trahearne nodded, and managed a light laugh.  
  
"That is one of Ventari's several teachings that could apply to this situation," he replied. "The only lasting peace is the peace within your soul' could also be used, as could 'never leave a wrong to ripen into evil or sorrow'. I'm certain others may also be relevant."  
  
"Yeah, guess he knew his stuff," Waine said. He was quiet then, head turned down to the grassy floor. Trahearne did not speak. He had no intention of interrupting the boy's thoughts, knowing how vital it was to be allowed time to think and contemplate, especially after a lesson.  
  
Instead, Trahearne followed Waine's gaze; to the greenery carpeting the ground and the shiny baubles scattered about. A glint caught his eye, the glow of an amber stone. In bright light it shone like the sun, but in the dim of the room it seemed akin to the warm, soft flame of a candle. It made him think of Riannoc , made him think of his eyes.  
  
"I suppose..." Waine murmured. "I dunno. I guess you're right." He turned away from the glinting baubles on the ground and toward Trahearne. Trahearne could see the anxiety in his eyes; darkness curling in and around itself. "You've got your weird tree wisdom..." Something glittered within the darkness; an ember shining through, ever so slightly.  
  
"And you have humanity's resilience," Trahearne said, and his smile was genuine this time. He watched as the glow in Waine's eyes flickered, then burst, growing larger and brighter like a fire feasting upon dry tinder. "You are stronger than you know, Waine. We all are."  
  
Then he reached out and took the child's hand in his own. Smooth in places, calloused in others, with the nicks and scrapes from work and play. Warm and small. So small, compared to his own hands. He felt as an oak to a sprout, shifting its leaves to let the sunlight fall upon the smaller plant. Shielding it from excess wind and threatening fauna, and all other manner of threats.  
  
'Responsibility isn't easy.' It was a human phrase, and one Trahearne had often felt described many parts of his life. But here and now, holding the hand of such a fragile creature, such a young human, he felt the weight of it.  
  
"Trahearne?" Waine tilted his head to the side. Trahearne snapped back to attention and released the other's hand.  
  
"Yes, Waine?" He asked.  
  
"Let's go," The child said. "Riannoc should be back from his practise with Niamh soon. I've got my lessons."  
  
 Trahearne nodded, then stood alongside Waine. He gave him a pat on the shoulder and received a gap-toothed grin in return. The boy scurried off, across the bedroom threshold and out toward the entrance. Trahearne followed, pausing just outside the bedroom door.  
  
Waine shuffled through his pockets, slightly less holey since Kahedins had sewn up his old clothes. He fumbled about before removing a single gem. Pretty and shiny, though of no value beyond its looks. Trahearne recognised it as one he'd found, a tiny gem in the muck of Orr. Waine placed it upon the entrance table then took a deep breath.  
  
Trahearne watched, anxious jitters running down his spine. He saw Waine's hand slip back into his pocket, saw it close tight around something.  
  
He knew what it was. A small dagger, encased in rust and only slightly bigger than Trahearne's fingers. Yet Waine treasured it; it was his only constant companion, brought him more comfort than any sword. It had been his shield in the darkness, his last defense when all bribery and trickery had failed, and flight was no longer an option.  
  
Waine pulled it out of his pocket and held it over the small table, hand hovering just over its surface. His whole arm shook, nose scrunched and teeth tearing into his lower lip. He stayed like that for a while, still, just holding the knife over the table.  
  
Then he closed his eyes and pocketed the knife. The moment ended. Waine rushed out the door and did not look back, though he must have known Trahearne had been watching. There had been shame etched upon his face. Trahearne sighed.  
  
_So close..._ he thought, pacing over to the table, looking down at the gem there. He had returned what he had stolen but the knife he still carried. His past he still clung to. _But a step is a step, and a choice is a choice. Though there is still far to go, should I not know best what it means to cherish even the smallest glitter of hope?_  
  
Still bitterness churned within him, though touched it was by sweetness. He recognised it. A single flower in a wasteland. Hope, so small and fragile.  
  
_One day Waine, you will not flee. One day._  
  
But it was not this one.  
  


❧❧❧

 

The clattering of wood against wood sounded throughout Ronan's Bower as Waine and Riannoc danced about. They circled, carefully, Riannoc ever calm and Waine ever wary. Trahearne watched as they clashed, his tattered and ink-smudged notes lying neglected upon the garden table. He nibbled on a slice of rosemary bread, one of several lunchtime treats Riannoc had laid out earlier.  
  
"Parry!"  
  
Waine caught Riannoc's blade with his own, blocking his strike then deflecting it. Riannoc acknowledged the move with a grin, stepping back and reassuming his original stance.  
  
"Lunge!"  
  
Waine did so, his eyes sparkling even as Riannoc parried. Like his mentor, he smiled. It was becoming a common sight. Whether it be at meal times or when engaged in leisure activities, when talking with the other sylvari or practising his combat skills, or even in those few moments Riannoc put aside to better the child's letters and sums, Waine's face seemed brighter. There were less shadows in his eyes, no darkness hiding in sallow cheeks unfed and in bruises blackening.  
  
"Excellent, excellent!" Riannoc exclaimed. "Now one more round, just one! Then we take a break." He waved at Trahearne. "Dearheart, could you grab the berry bowl? I left it inside!"  
  
"Yes love," Trahearne said, collecting his papers and striding back toward their home. He reorganised the notes as he went, feeling remarkably jovial as he placed them on his desk. He found the berry bowl sitting on the kitchen table, then headed back outside.  
  
On his way out he paused, standing by the entrance table. On the surface lay a single gemstone, shining in the sunbeams that streamed through the open door. It had laid there for three months now, untouched. At Trahearne's request Riannoc had left it there; a reminder of Waine's courage.  
  
Trahearne chuckled softly to himself, his steps light and swift as he returned to the place Waine and Riannoc practised. As he approached he could see the two, still fighting. Wood against wood echoed throughout the Bower, followed by a thump as Waine misstepped and fell backward, sword slipping from his grasp as he hit the ground.  
  
"Oh dear," Riannoc laughed, "Well, I think that about does it. Time for lunch!" Riannoc moved to help Waine to his feet, but paused over the boy. Waine's hand was in his pocket and his eyes were wide and glazed, chest heaving like a frightened mouse. Trahearne watched from afar, his own heart hammering in his chest, pounding against his ribs. Waine's eyes were wild, a whirlwind of shadows staring up into the amber light that were Riannoc's.  
  
He shook, shivered, fingers clinging desperately to the tiny dagger in his pocket.  
  
"Waine?" Riannoc whispered. Waine flinched, startled, and then cleared his throat.  
  
"Could've been a little gentler there Riannoc," he laughed, an awkward sound. Riannoc smiled and laughed along with him though, hand still held out before him. Waine took it with his free one and clambered to his feet. Together they brushed off the dirt that still clung to Waine, then strode over to Trahearne and their lunch.  
  
_Waine..._  
  
Trahearne could see it, his other hand still hidden away in his pocket. Still curled up, finding comfort in rusty steel and darkness.  
  
He sat and smiled as Waine and Riannoc joined him at the table and began to talk; lessons, training, an incident with an angry rodent, the quality of the food. But Trahearne could not stop staring at Waine's hand. Now it flailed about as his other did, but it did not stop bothering him.  
  
Like that shiny blue gem brought hope, a symbol of perseverance and honesty, the dagger brought worry. A twisted anxiety. For every successful thrust and parry, there were moments in which he lay on the ground. For every moment he stood and fought, there was a moment he fled. For every moment of revelation, a moment of doubt. Twin to the spark of warm light within was the dark tendrils of fear.  
  
_You have come far Waine but still the shadows haunt you,_ Trahearne thought, looking at the two across from him. Riannoc beaming, Waine laughing. _There are less, but they still persist, lurking in the corners._  
  
Then he shook his head.  
  
_But hope there is and I am too critical. Unfairly so._ Trahearne ignored the churning in his stomach as he joined in the other's idle chatter. _After all, if Orr cannot be cleansed in a day, who am I to cast judgment on the progress of others?_  
  
He managed a smile.  
  
_And there truly are less shadows.  
  
_

❧❧❧

 

Riannoc lay beside Trahearne, fingers gently stroking his hair as they embraced in bed. The day had been spent in a somewhat rowdy peace. After a rigorous training session Riannoc had decided on a spontaneous swimming lesson, thrown off his clothes, and leapt in the lake. Waine had been hesitant to follow him, but seeing Riannoc splashing and diving so jovially in the water had convinced him to try. Soon the two had been engaged in a great water fight. Trahearne had been soaked in the waves of their fun as he sat on the side and watched them.  
  
Later they'd come home, only for Riannoc and Waine to engage in more tomfoolery as they tossed pillows at one another. Again Trahearne had been caught in the crossfire, not that he minded. Soon Waine had exhausted himself and slipt off to bed, leaving Trahearne and Riannoc a few hours of privacy. They had made good use of it.  
  
Yet in this moment of peace Trahearne felt a hint of unease not his own.  
  
"Riannoc?" He tilted his head to look his lover in the eye, fingertips stroking the side of his face. Riannoc gazed down at him, eyes glowing amber, warm as candlelight.  
  
"It is a good thing I seek to hide nothing from you dear, for if I did I would fail every time," Riannoc murmured. He wrapped his arms more tightly about Trahearne, pulling him closer. "There is something I must tell you."  
  
Trahearne felt a strange twist in his stomach. He knew Riannoc felt his apprehension, for the stroking hand upon his head slipt down to caress his cheek.  
  
"I have heard the call, love," he murmured. "The Dream has given me a Hunt."  
  
Trahearne was silent for a long moment. A Hunt. Riannoc had a Wyld Hunt, a task given to him by the Dream itself. A tremor ran down his spine.  
  
_A Hunt is a great honour, but does it ever feel like one?_   If he spoke from his own experience the answer was often no. But Riannoc was strong and brave, a sturdy bulwark against all the darkness of the world; the ever shining sun.  
  
"What does it call you to do, dearheart?" He asked.  
  
"There is a lich deep within the swamps to the north," Riannoc began. "He lurks in the mire, a creature called Mazdak. He is a servant of Zhaitan, leader of the Risen there. If I cut him down, the Risen presence will lessen and the dragon's hold on the area will decrease. His evil will plague the land no more."  
  
"And good will triumph," Trahearne whispered. He felt nervous. There was something still being left unsaid. Tendrils of fear and worry curled in his stomach too, for he knew of liches far better than Riannoc. They were a powerful form of undead, far more deadly than the average thrall.  
  
Yet Riannoc was not to be underestimated. If Mazdak was more than a thrall, than Riannoc  was more than other sylvari.  
  
_Good will triumph,_ he assured himself. The thought, however, did less to reassure him than the sight of Riannoc's smile, the passion in his eyes, the tightness of his grip around him. He nestled into his embrace. "I will aid you how I can, love."  
  
"You must focus on your own Hunt, Trahearne," Riannoc said. "Though what aid you do  give me will not be turned aside." He paused, looked down, then bent his head to place a kiss upon his brow. "If you would come with me tomorrow to see the Mother Tree I would be most grateful. She has called for me."  
  
"Of course," Trahearne nestled his head in the crook of Riannoc's neck. "I will accompany you Riannoc, to whatever end."  
  
A brief silence descended. Trahearne closed his eyes and wished the moment would last, sweet as it was. He could feel Riannoc's strong form around him, guarding his body, heart, and mind. No Risen thralls would find him here, no threat that sought to harm them. No evil could take this hour of peace from him.  
  
"I would take Waine with me."  
  
Ah, but he knew well it was not always evil that took peace away.  
  
"Are you certain that is wise?" Trahearne did not misconstrue his words. Riannoc did not mean to take Waine before the Mother. He meant to take Waine into the mires of the north, into the Risen den. Meant to take him to the fight, as a knight would take a squire.  
  
"I believe so. He is ready, Trahearne, I am certain."  
  
"And I am not," Trahearne pulled back, untangled himself from Riannoc. "Love, he is not as strong as you think he is."  
  
Riannoc's face creased with pain. "Trahearne you give him too little credit. He has come far, so far from where he began."  
  
"And he has farther still to go," he replied, reaching out to touch Riannoc's face, smooth his lines of worry away. "I do not seek to belittle him love. I seek to keep him safe, to keep you safe."  
  
"I know, I know," Riannoc murmured, both hands moving to cup Trahearne's face, palms and finger splayed upon his cheeks. "I can feel it." He bowed his head and Trahearne mirrored the action so they met halfway, foreheads pressed against one another's, eyes open in every sense they could be. To see, and to be seen.  
  
_I cannot imagine this openness with any other,_ he thought, and his heart ached. He loved his siblings, loved his mother, loved his friends, loved Waine, his child, for that was what he had become.  But different loves meant different things, and Riannoc was the only one he loved this way, could ever love this way.  
  
"Dearheart, please," Riannoc whispered, voice husky. "I feel it, I know. You understand what Mazdak is more than any, understand what he can do. But you also know me."  
  
He moved one hand from Trahearne's face to wrap around his wrist, guiding the hand down his shoulders and chest to rest upon his heart. Trahearne inhaled deeply, closed his hands, and _felt_.  
  
_I believe in him, I believe in him, I believe in him._ Over and over, the strength of Riannoc's belief thundered through his hand to his heart. He felt his fear, so small next to the light of his courage, his strength, stability, his love and honour and duty.  
  
He let his hand slip away and his head fall forward to replace it, let Riannoc wrap him in his embrace once more. It was as if he were being embraced by all the good in the world, the glow of the sun.  
  
"I will see that he is ready, Trahearne. I will see that I am ready," Riannoc murmured against his hair. "Waine will come if he chooses, will stay if he does not, and you will have a chance to have your say. I promise." He laid a kiss upon his head. "But I believe in him."  
  
"I know," Trahearne closed his eyes, "and I believe in you."  
  
A strange feeling of exhaustion came over Trahearne then, a weary sort of fear. It clung to him doggedly, cold tendrils reminding him of all the darkness he knew and had seen.  The evils of Mazdak, the horror of liches. The shadows in Waine's eyes.  
  
Yet he could feel the warmth of Riannoc's heart, his steady strength shining beneath where his head lay upon his chest. He sighed and let it embrace him as surely as his beloved's arms, and the tendrils fell away.  
  
If only for a night, he believed as strongly as Riannoc did.  
  


❧❧❧

 

The hour was late. The sky was black. Clouds shadowed both moon and stars, kept them hidden in its cloak. The Grove's natural luminescence shone brightly, flowers and trees and little insects all aglow. To any other it would have been beautiful.  
  
To Trahearne the night was eerie, haunted as any Orrian path.  
  
He shook himself, refused to let the mood take hold. Now was not the time to feel melancholy nor fear, regardless of what approached. He had to be strong, supportive. Had to be ready.  
  
The sound of wood against wood rang out through the Grove, reverbrating through the silence. It did little to ease his worries, set his stomach twisting and churning with anxiety. He sighed out a breath, inhaled deepily, sighed out again.  
  
Calm. Collected. It was not usually such a hard thing for him to be.  
  
He could retire to the bedroom. There was no need for him to be awake, little purpose in his continued vigilance at the table. His notes were strewn across its surface, ignored. His Wyld Hunt was his purpose, but right now his thoughts were scattered. His mind was being tugged in too many directions for him to concentrate on one.  
  
And his heart. His heart ached.  
  
Wood against wood turned to steel against steel, then stopped. Voices carried through the still air, followed by footsteps leading up to the door.  
  
At the sound Trahearne sighed. He gathered up his notes in an effort to maintain some semblance of order and  waited. As he did his eyes wandered, most unwilling, to where Caladbolg sat.  
  
The sword was set upon a bench on the opposite wall. Supporting it were two curled stands, fashioned from vines and coaxed into shape by Kahedins.  
  
It was their Mother's gift; a sword to slay the lich and cleanse the land left behind. It was beautiful in all ways, a pure, pale thorn that blossomed into colour and light. Illusions of butterflies danced and glittered.  
  
When Riannoc held it, all the sunshine of his spirit shone through, made greater by the blade.  The sight of it should have given Trahearne strength, should have filled him with warmth.  
  
But all it was was a reminder of what lay ahead. What was to come. He shivered.  
  
_Not now,_ he thought, and shook away the fear. _It will protect him, protect them. It will. It is our Mother's sword._  
  
 The voices grew louder. They kept on growing until the door opened and they spilt inside.  Waine and Riannoc came stumbling in after, laughing, both spent but smiling.  
  
"That was superb Waine!" Riannoc exclaimed. "Your swordsmanship has flourished!"  
  
"Really Riannoc?"  
  
"Really. There a few I'd rather have at my side than you now!" He turned away a moment to set both swords down by the door then spun back around, knelt, and placed his hands on Waine's shoulders. "You've come so far Waine. Truly, you have."  
  
Waine smiled and Riannoc smiled back. Dark eyes reflected amber glow.  
  
"But now," Riannoc said, and gave his shoulders a clap, "I need to wash away the day's practise. You too, I'm sure, but let me go ahead and see the spring is ready. Mayhap you can convince Trahearne to join us!"  
  
Waine snorted. "You convince him, I've had enough of your kissin' and cuddlin'. I don't want to see it while I'm washin'."  
  
Riannoc laughed as he rose, reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. He said nothing, simply smiled, but pride shone in his eyes.  
  
He paused on his way to the spring to kiss Trahearne. Trahearne rose to meet him, caught his gaze as they parted, glimpsed the worry in his beloved's eyes. It belied his earlier joviality. _So you have felt my fear. Of course. Why did I think I could hide it from you?_  
  
"We'll talk later," Riannoc whispered, brushing their lips in another kiss. Then he pulled away and disappeared into the depths of their home.  
  
The brightness he'd brought disappeared with him. Silence crept in to fill the space it left behind, not warm and comfortable, but tense, unsure. It weighed upon him, so heavy, too heavy.  
  
Trahearne took a breath and turned.  
  
Waine stood where Riannoc had left him. The smiles and laughter from before were gone, faded as fast as a too-bright candle. The boy was looking where Riannoc had gone, gaze following the steps he'd taken. His breathing came fast, just a little too quick.  
  
_Like a mouse,_ Trahearne thought, and knew he could not keep quiet.  
  
"Waine?"  
  
The boy started. Trahearne noted with trepidation that his hand had gone straight to his pocket.  
  
Waine did not speak. Instead he stared, stared back at Trahearne with all the shadows and lights in his eyes plain to see. They warred with each other, hope and fear, all tangled together, and there was no way to know which would win.  
  
Trahearne drew a breath, a little sharper than intended.  
  
"Waine," he said again.  
  
"Yes?" Waine asked. It was not as wary as it would have been so many months ago, but still it lingered just at the edge of his voice.  
  
Trahearne said nothing. Waine's eyes darted about, from Trahearne to the door to the practise swords to Caladbolg, round and round until finally they stopped on Trahearne again. His hand left his pocket.  
  
"Trahearne?"  
  
"Waine," he said. "Are you ready for this?" He did not need to specify what.  
  
Waine's face twisted. "Of course I'm ready! Riannoc an' I've been trainin' for this for two months now. I'm ready. I'm goin' to go with him and we're gonna find that lich and then we're..."  
  
His voice wavered, faded, trailed away beneath Trahearne's gaze. Trahearne waited, standing, arms crossed. Waine bowed his head.  
  
"A lich is a terrible creature Waine," Trahearne began. "Mazdak is a powerful lich. His strength is great, his thrall many. His defeat will be a great victory for many people. It will be a great victory for the land itself, to be cleansed of his corruption. But it will be a hard won victory. A lich is not something taken lightly."  
  
"I'm not—" Waine exclaimed, bit back the rest. He didn't worry his lip as he would have done months ago but Trahearne could still see the temptation.  
  
"Waine," he said.  
  
"I'm not," Waine repeated. "I — I just... don't you think I've come far Trahearne? I've gotten good with swords and I'm not so scared in fights anymore. I don't steal and I've got good 'nough manners for Niamh, and some honour too she says. Riannoc says I've come far. Haven't I?" His voice trembled on the last.  
  
Trahearne said nothing for a long moment. The image of a small boy in rags crept to the forefront of his mind; dirty and cautious, paranoid, fearful, with pockets full of stolen things. There'd only been shadows in his eyes then.  
  
That boy was gone. Waine stood stronger, back straighter, his eyes warmer and brighter. He'd grown once fed well, and all the dirt had been washed from his cheeks. The love of all in the Grove had brought out his smiles. He'd come far, certainly.  
  
But he still kept that dagger in his pocket.  
  
_He is still bound by it._  
  
"Waine," he said, gentle as he could. The boy stared up at him. "Waine, you have come very far. You have grown, from a sapling into a true tree. But that tree is young, still has far to go. Your branches are thin, leaves new grown, flowers just buds. Mayhap you could weather a storm, but should you? It changes you Waine, if you survive it, and not always for the better."  
  
Trahearne looked down. Waine's eyes were swimming. _Is that shadows darting in light, or light darting in shadows?_  
  
"Trahearne..." Waine's voice wavered. There was true fear there now, but not of him. It had been there since he'd come in, kept in check until Riannoc left the room.  
  
He makes us all brave.  
  
"I am not telling you if you are ready or not," Trahearne murmured. "I am only asking this; do you think you are ready Waine? Because if you are not there is no shame in saying so."  
  
Waine stood, very still. Then the trembling began, first in his legs and fists, then up and along until his whole body shook with it. He squeezed his eyes shut. Then he opened them, and all Trahearne could see were great shadows, twisting and dancing around a tiny, amber flame.  
  
"I'm scared Trahearne," he said. "I'm not — I'm not — I've tried so hard but I'm not what he — what Riannoc — I don't wanna let him down. But I'm not what he thinks I am."  
  
Trahearne glanced away, over to the little bauble on the table by the door. "One day, you will be." Then he looked back and knelt. "One day." He spread his arms.  
  
Waine took one step, then another, then ran until his head was buried against Trahearne's neck. Trahearne closed his arms around him and held him, uncertain, unsure. This was not his way, was not what he knew. He knew his embrace must feel insubstantial when compared to Riannoc's own.  
  
But still he tried. He had to.  
  
"If you are not ready then do not go. You know things we do not Waine. You know death in ways we do not, in ways even I do not."  
  
He pulled back and looked Waine in the eye. The boy shook. "I'm scared Trahearne."  
  
"I know. I am too."  
  
Waine nodded. Trahearne wondered if there were shadows in his own eyes. _There must be._  
  
Slowly he rose, withdrew his hands. Waine swallowed thickly, eyes following him.  
  
"I'll tell him," the boy whispered. "Tell him I don't think I can do this. I — I just..."  
  
"It's alright Waine. I'll speak with him. You've made a hard choice but a wise one. Now go, go on and clean yourself up. A good wash under water will do more for you than you know."  
  
"I know how good a wash can be," Waine sniffed but he did go, glancing back only once before passing through the door. The smile he wore was fragile as flower petals.  
  
Trahearne watched him go with a heavy heart. _He still carries far too many shadows, love. Too many shadows for this.  
  
_

❧❧❧

 

Riannoc stepped into the dining room, still dripping water from his wash in the spring. It trailed in rivulets down his legs and arms, little streams that had escaped his attempts to wipe them away. He didn't mind. They made him smile.  
  
One such drop caught on his hair, dripping off the tip of a leaf to slide down his face onto his nose. He chuckled and shook his head, let scattered droplets cascade.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
Riannoc laughed and turned, saw what he expected. Waine trailing behind, the wet from Riannoc commingling with water from his own hair. A few droplets had scattered on his dry clothes. The boy scowled and Riannoc bit back a smile.  
  
"My apologies Waine," Riannoc said. "I was careless just now. Here." He knelt and held out his towel, silent offer to get him dry. Waine snorted but did not protest, so Riannoc set to towelling his hair.  
  
Human hair had always fascinated Riannoc. Though the sylvari sometimes referred to their own leaves as such, true hair was something completely different. It was as diverse as the sylvari's own, if a little less colourful. Waine's had been shaggy and tangled when they'd met. It pleased him to see how much it shone now.  
  
Perhaps his favourite thing, however, was the way it stood on end when one dried it by hand.  
  
"There we go," Riannoc smiled. "All dry."  
  
Waine said nothing, only looked down as Riannoc shifted back. He did not stand, merely watched as the boy stared at the ground. His smile softened, faded.  
  
The boy had been quiet all throughout their bath.  There had been many moments such as these during the past months, the days leading them ever closer to their battle with Mazdak. Both Riannoc and Waine had been training hard, borrowing the talents of Riannoc's siblings as they fought against both the magical and mundane.  
  
But Waine fought something else. Everyone had battles inside them; a battle of thoughts, of beliefs, of choices. Even Riannoc had one, though he did not entirely understand it.  
  
_Trahearne understands this better than I,_ he thought, _he understands dark things better than I._ But Riannoc knew much about light.  
  
"Waine?" He said.  
  
"Riannoc," he whispered, "do you believe in me?"  
  
"Of course Waine. Of course I believe in you."  
  
The boy did not look up. He swallowed. Riannoc frowned. He had shone so bright during their practise, hadn't faltered even at Caithe's daggers and Niamh's sword. Perhaps it was because he knew they would not harm him, but even in practise his siblings' weapons were terrifying things.  
  
But now something festered in the boy. Festered like the scraps from the alley where he'd found him.  
  
"Waine," he said, "you are strong. I would not have asked you to accompany me if I did not believe you could do this, if I did not believe in you. And I do. I do believe in you. When I met you you were caught in the past's shadows, but now your light shines. This is your dawn, Waine, and the bright sun of noon awaits."  
  
Waine looked up at him. Riannoc smiled to see the glitter in his eyes. It was as warm as candlelight, the roseate glow of pink and gold flowers, of sunrise. The shadows seemed such little things.  
  
He gave Waine's hair a final ruffle and rose. It would be wise for them to retire after a quick meal. Trahearne had likely already returned to their room, not in the mood for a shared bath. Riannoc would have enjoyed his company, but he could have it later tonight.  
  
_We should rest well in good company while we can,_ he thought, _for there will be times we cannot._  
  
"Do you ever think, maybe, it's just your own light?"  
  
Riannoc stilled. He turned back to Waine, concern for the boy thrumming through his bones. He knew the boy couldn't feel it. Knew he had to speak it to be heard.  
  
"What do you mean Waine?"  
  
"Do you ever think, maybe, the light you see in others is just your own? Like the sun's light catching on things and making them glow."  
  
Riannoc was quiet for a long moment. It was hard not to answer immediately, for he knew what he wished to say, wished to repeat his usual words of warmth and comfort, encouragement.  
  
 But he knew he had to think. It was a serious question. A very serious question from a small human who'd seen some very dark things. I must be honest.  
  
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But not this time. Not now."  
  
He walked the few steps back across the room to Waine and knelt before him, hands on his thin shoulders. They'd broadened, certainly, from food and swordplay, but they were still so small when compared to his own.  
  
"I think it is more likely that people see the sun's light and cannot bear that their own is not so bright. Thus they make excuses, pretend their own light is not there, and so it never grows. They fear failure, fear to make mistakes so much they do not do what is right. Their fear shrouds them, leaves them alone, does not allow them to ask for aid.  
  
But Waine, I will help you, Trahearne will help you. We will help you keep your light, help you grow it. Some of us are born with it, to it, but for others like yourself it takes time to find. But you _have_ found it. Whatever you think, I know you have found that light. You do not need to make excuses for its absence, for it has never been absent, and now it glows."  
  
"And if I make a mistake?" Waine asked. "If I make a bad choice?"  
  
Riannoc laid a hand on his head. "I will forgive you Waine. I do not think any one with light in them would punish you for failing, for trying." He squeezed Waine's shoulders tightly. "And you are trying. You're further now than you were before, and I think you are ready."  
  
 He looked at Waine, long and hard. "But I won't make you come if you are not."  
  
He stood back, ruffling Waine's hair as he went. "It's up to you. It's your choice." He smiled. "It's your _chance_. You may not believe me, but I was there the day you made the first choice, the first step. You cannot change that I believe in you, my squire."  
  
His heart swelled as he recalled the lad he'd known not so long ago. The tear-stained, dirt-encrusted boy in an alley, with his teeth bared and his hair wild and his eyes full of anger and fear and darkness. There'd been a little knife in his hands then. That dagger that Trahearne so feared.  
  
As he thought it, Waine removed the same knife from his pocket and looked at it. Even if he couldn't feel it, he could see the thoughts milling through his mind, the wheel spinning and sifting through shadowy water.  
  
"Aren't you scared of his power? Mazdak's power?" He asked.  
  
"What good is power when it's afforded to you by an evil master? What good is an army when you're standing against love, honor, and loyalty?" Riannoc shook his head. "Does the warmth of this Grove not prove that such power is not everything? It is your choice, Waine, your choice to believe in that light."  
  
Waine bit his lip, hunched his shoulders. There was a question on Waine's lips, but he did not ask it. Instead he took a deep breath.  
  
Dropped the knife.  
  
"I believe in you Riannoc, so I'll believe in me. I'm ready."  
  
Riannoc smiled. "That you are."  
  


❧❧❧

 

"He's not ready!"  
  
"Trahearne please," Riannoc said, holding up his hands.  
  
Trahearne inhaled. It took all his effort to keep his voice even, to keep himself from shouting. Shouting would not help, would not even make him feel better.  
  
"He's not ready, Riannoc. He may be your squire, our — our child — but he's not ready. I spoke with him. He's frightened, Riannoc, enough so that I do not think he can stand against Mazadak."  
  
Riannoc shook his head, lowered his hands. "And I spoke to him too and he said he was ready. He is ready Trahearne, and I do not think we can wait any longer. My heart tells me we must go soon."  
  
Trahearne stopped. He could feel his love's bravery, his affection, his faith. It shone from him like the sun's beams, sure and bright. There was some fear, yes, but it was nothing compared to that light.  
  
But Trahearne's fear was not so. There was much he did not know, but he had seen the shambling creatures of Orr, had seen what they could do.  
  
"Riannoc, please, do not go yet. Do not take Waine. Take one of our siblings, take anyone else, just not that child. He cannot be what you want him to be. Not yet. He needs more time."  
  
His heart sank as Riannoc shook his head. He could feel the other's hurt drift through their bond.  
  
"Our siblings are busy, Trahearne. They are building and protecting our home, travelling far to find the boundaries of our land, seeking where dearest Malomedies went.  And  you, you must go to Orr. The weather will soon be too stormy for you to sail. You must go now if you are to return before you are trapped in Orr for the season. No, Trahearne, we are too few, and we have no time to seek other allies. Not when our bonds with the other races are still so new."  
  
Trahearne wanted to argue. He could not shake the creeping tendrils on his heart. Fear — he knew fear better than any of his siblings. _Does that mean I know better, or does it hold me back?_ He couldn't say. _Do we understand death? Can we truly know what it means?_  
  
He forced himself to breath. He was torn, between his fear and his belief in Riannoc. He had never failed, never fallen, never faltered.  
  
"Love, he is a child. I do not know what that means, save that he is frailer than the adult humans we have seen. He could grow to be a great squire, a strong knight, but I do not think he is ready. I do not wish you to go alone, but I do not think you should take Waine either."  
  
"Trahearne he is ready."  
  
"Riannoc he still has that dagger—"  
  
"No," Riannoc said. Trahearne paused. "He doesn't Trahearne. He gave it up."  
  
To prove his point Riannoc retrieved the little dagger from his pocket. The tiny blade was unique in the Grove, its dirty, rusted surface and poor craftsmanship a sharp contrast to the beauty of their own weapons. It was undeniably Waine's. Riannoc could not fake it, and would not besides.  
  
"He — he gave it to you?"  
  
"Would I take it from him?"  
  
Trahearne shook his head. "No you would not. But — but Riannoc—"  
  
"Love, we must do what is right. I must do this. Waine is ready. I think he needs to do this to acknowledge his own growth, his own light. I will not go alone, but with him, and we will fight Mazdak and cleanse his corruption. There is no need for fear. We will go and return victorious."  
  
Trahearne closed his mouth, opened it, closed it again. He could not find the words. His fear, what there had been, slowly gave way to Riannoc's warmth. He could feel Riannoc's pride in Waine, his love for him.  
  
"You have faced Orr alone, a land of liches. Let Waine and I face Mazdak."  
  
"I just wish — I wish he were — I wish you weren't alone. Not alone with Waine."  
  
"Trust him, Trahearne, and trust me. Now please, I do not wish to spend my last nights with you arguing, not before this. Let us share our love. I have a gift for you."  
  
And Trahearne could not argue anymore. His fear gave way, his distrust faded. He could not argue on one of their last nights together, not when they would be so long apart. Not when Riannoc presented him with a bloom and a kiss.  
  
No, he could not argue. He could only be convinced, had to trust him.  
  
And so embraced by his arms, Trahearne did.  
  


❧❧❧

 

The mist hung low. Waine flinched as he stepped in another murky puddle, the ground giving more than he'd expected. The air stunk of muck and rot and the trees seemed like skeletal hands in the fog.  
  
Waine swallowed. Riannoc led the way, just a little luminescent. It was not enough to give them away, not when the flora itself glowed in daylight.  
  
As if daylight could ever reach this place.  
  
He breath came unevenly. When he breathed through his nose he could smell the dead, but when he breathed through his mouth he could taste it, and the swamp midges. Even on solid ground his feet sank and his boots were full of wet and water, chilling him to the bone.  
  
They had said farewell to Trahearne at the start of their journey. Waine had felt very brave saying his goodbyes. He had even felt brave as they'd left the Grove for Caledon Forest, wandered amidst all its strange, bright trees. The camping had been fun, for the few nights they'd had to.  
  
But then they'd entered the mire.  
  
Riannoc pressed on, unafraid. Waine could not. He knew that smell too well. He'd seen enough bodies in his short life, had smelt them as they'd been dumped beside him. He'd had enough already-bloodied knives pressed against his throat in threat, tripped over the starved in their alleys.  
  
Corpses. Carrion. Death.  
  
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.  
  
"Riannoc," he whispered.  
  
"Yes Waine?" Riannoc replied, stopping to look back. "Are you well? Did you see something?"  
  
"No I just..."  
  
Riannoc waited but Waine could not bring himself to say it. _I smell death. I know death. I'm scared. I don't want to die._  
  
"Just wanted to make sure you were keeping an eye out. I can smell them."  
  
Riannoc smiled. "I can too. They're close, which means the time is near at hand. Soon we will have vanquished all befouled creatures from this place, and all things lovely shall grow here again."  
  
He reached over with one hand and touched his shoulder. "Thank you for coming with me Waine. This is the chance to prove to yourself just how strong you are, and our chance to smite one of Zhatain's creatures. Our victory today will pave the path to a brighter future, I am sure."  
  
Waine watched him go, Caladbolg on his back. It shone bright, as bright as Riannoc. As warm as Riannoc. As strong as Riannoc. Riannoc whom he loved, whom had loved him, whom he wanted to be.  
  
  _We can do this,_ he thought, _I can do this. I didn't leave the bandits to just end up a body. I'm going to be better. That's what I chose._  
  
He tasted death on the air and shuddered, closed his eyes, then forced a step. One step, then another. _I can do this. I can._  
  
His heart thundered and still he trekked forward. He slipt in mud and still he trekked forward. Terrible noises carried to his ears on the wind and still he trekked forward.  
  
_I can do this. I just have to follow Riannoc._  
  
He took one final breath and reached for the dagger in his pocket.  
  
It wasn't there. Nothing was there. No bauble to trade, no knife to stab. There was nothing, nothing to protect him.  
  
He shook. He swallowed. He forced himself to look at Riannoc. Bright, strong Riannoc who believed in him.  
  
Blind, foolish Riannoc who knew nothing of fear. Blind, foolish Riannoc who knew nothing of pain. Blind, foolish Riannoc who knew nothing of death.  
  
_I can do this,_ he thought, tried to push the fear away.  
  
But his trembling did not stop.  
  
_Can I?  
  
_

❧❧❧

 

Waine ran. His feet caught on roots, all hidden in swamp and muck. Plants twisted and reeds caught, water stinging as it crept into his boots, found the cuts from rocks that jangled inside.  
  
He ran. His lungs burnt and his eyes were wet, his face wet. His heart thundered. His arms ached. The sword he carried was heavy.  
  
_Go back!_  
  
But he didn't. If he did he would die.  
  
_Go back!_ He thought again, hysterical. _Riannoc will die if you don't! Go back, go back, go back!_  
  
He didn't. He clutched Caladbolg close, the only weapon he had, the only weapon that could stand against the creatures...  
  
_Creatures creeping closer, hands outstretched, terrible, rotted corpses moaning and reaching out for another to drag into the mire. Abominations thundering forward, bones and guts and putrid flesh._  
  
_And the lich. The lich watching with its green glow and power — it had so much power. And Riannoc was alone._  
  
_Go back!_  
  
But he would die. He knew.  
  
_No! Go back! Give Riannoc the sword. You could still win. You could. He didn't lie, you believed in him. Go back! Please go back! He was the only one who cared, the only one who reached out. Go back! Don't leave him!_  
  
But Riannoc did not know fear. He did not know what it was like to be hit, to be slapped across the face, to be dragged by the hair, to be threatened daily. He did not know what it was like to be an expendable child, did not know what it was like to see someone die, hear them choke as they hit the ground with their guts hanging out and their throats slit.  
  
He didn't know the empty eyes, didn't know the blood, the horror. Didn't know the pain of hunger, of sitting up all night curled in a small place so tight you cramped, all so that you might survive to live another wretched day.  
  
_But he gave you a life that wasn't that! Go back!_  
  
He did not. He would die if he did, and Waine wasn't ready to die.  
  
But he stopped, just once, and looked back. He could hear the Risen, could hear Mazdak's voice, could hear Riannoc still fighting.  
  
He could see him smiling, feel his arms, hear his laughter. Felt his hand on his hair, felt his warmth. He could see the Grove and Riannoc's House, remembered the ache after a practise in the Bower, remembered dancing with Riannoc's siblings, remembered the way Trahearne sat with him.  
  
He remembered when he thought he could be brave. He remembered when he thought he was loved.  
  
_Go back!_  
  
Waine's heart throbbed, begged, pleaded.  
  
He turned away.  
  
_It wasn't real. They were idiots. They were fools. There's only life and death, and you take what you have to to keep living. It's not my fault, they were stupid. It's not my fault, it's not my fault, I want to live!_  
  
_Go back!_  
  
He clutched Caladbolg tighter and ran. He ran far from Lychcroft Mere and Caledon and the Grove.  
  
He ran and did not look back.  
  


❧❧❧

 

Riannoc lay in the swamp, arm still outstretched. Mazdak's laughter echoed around him, but he could barely hear it. He knew the Risen must be creeping closer, foul hands reaching to tear him apart.  
  
But Riannoc could not hear them nor see them.  
  
He could hear a voice, terrified, so small and shaking. Pleading. Could see trembling hands as they stole Caladbolg from his own, saw eyes swimming with shadows and tears.  
  
_'I want to live Riannoc! I want to live!'_  
  
He closed his eyes. Close, so close, but Trahearne had been right in the end. He had understood fear better. Riannoc had understood light. He was so close Trahearne, so close, but you saw what I did not.  
  
Around him death closed in. He did not know it but soon he would. Soon he would understand just what Waine had feared. He wondered if the boy thought of that now, thought of what Riannoc faced.  
  
_I have failed. Mazdak still lives. I have lost Caladbolg. I will never see my family again. Never see Trahearne again. Never see Mother. Never see Waine. I failed them all._  
  
He breathed. He breathed out his fear and pain and found, against all odds, a smile on his face. It ached. All he loved gone from him, all his love failed.  
  
"Forgive him Mother," he whispered. "We were both too young."  
  
_There was too much we did not understand._  
  
Riannoc took one breath, then another, and then he breathed his last.  
  


❧❧❧

 

And somewhere far away, not so long after, Trahearne clutched his chest and knew, finally, what death meant.  
  
  


❧❧❧

 

The world was quiet. Waine could hear nothing but a terrible hum, a strange sound that muffled all others.  
  
He blinked, felt a terrible burn in his chest. He looked down. There was a sword. He looked up. There was a sylvari.  
  
Dying. He was dying.  
  
He should have been scared but he wasn't. For the first time in his life there was nothing like fear in Waine's heart. Instead, through all the pain and numb, he felt at ease.  
  
_So they finally came for me. Did you send them, Trahearne, or was it someone else?_  
  
It should have hurt but it didn't. Instead a warmth settled over him. They'd finally got him, finally stopped him, finally ended it.  
  
The voices that hadn't given a moment's peace since he ran finally fell quiet. All the voices that whispered of wretched, blessed, stolen Caladbolg and Riannoc and Trahearne and all sylvari fell quiet. Voices that whispered of something better, of being better, of places that proved the rules he lived by didn't have to be. Voices that whispered when he befriended Jat, voices that whispered he could do better by his friend, could show him better.  
  
Everything, every terrible moment of his life, suddenly fell away. Every voice in his head, quiet. No more fear, no more hunger, no more guilt, no more evil. It was all gone.  
  
_I was so scared of this. I still am and yet..._ Somehow it was better. Something inside him finally eased.  
  
He looked up at the sylvari, his killer. They stared down at him and he wondered, _Can you see this? Can you see what they saw? What he saw?_ Could they see the child he'd been, so scared and alone?  
  
His whole body ached, but worst was his heart. The life he could have had lingered in his thoughts. It was the life he'd lost to death, all because he'd known it too well and feared it too much. _I just wanted to live. I didn't want to hurt, but all I've done is hurt and be hurt. I justified it every moment until now._  
  
He breathed and it burnt. He could feel his life leave him. Can you forgive me Riannoc?  
  
_'I forgave you a long time ago Waine. It was you who could never forgive yourself.'_  
  
_I can believe that. I can believe you._  
  
And this time he truly did.  
  


❧❧❧

 

The Valiant stepped back from Waine, Caladbolg in hand. The man's body was splayed where they'd left it, eyes half-closed and blood seeping through his coat. A great hum filled the air; cheers and complaints and bets lost and won, all shouted their surprise at this new upset.  
  
But the Valiant paid them no mind. They gave only the smallest of smiles to the congratulations and well wishes of the audience, could hear nothing over the hum as they took the stairs from the pit, hands shaking.  
  
A hand clapped them on the shoulder. They looked up to see Branthyn, aglow with pride.  
  
"You were amazing down there!" She exclaimed. "Your combat prowess is really something. I envy you the beating you gave that thug. I wish I'd been able to lend a hand." Her eyes glinted, narrowed as she glanced back at the body in the pit.  
  
But the Valiant did not share her enthusiasm. They glanced down at Caladbolg, shimmering and shining. No blood stained its pure surface. They thought of Waine's eyes and shuddered.  
  
"I was prepared to let Waine go, but he wouldn't stop attacking me. I didn't want to kill him." They'd never wanted to kill anyone. _And his eyes..._  
  
Branthyn faltered, her enthusiasm dimming. She paused, stopped some distance from where the crowd still shouted around the ring. The Valiant waited.  
  
"Waine had been carrying that burden for so long, it was probably a relief to die at the hands of someone who knew the truth," she said finally.  
  
"You're right. I could see it in his eyes," The Valiant murmured. "He seemed almost...grateful. As if a debt had been paid or some great guilt finally abated. I...I wish there had been another way but I don't think he would have let us."  
  
Branthyn smiled, not unsympathetically. Her hand on their shoulder was firm but not hard, reassuring in its presence.  
  
"That compassion and honor is what makes you great Vigil material," she said. "I'm serious when I say you should consider joining my order. We cannot always give life, but we can grant some mercy in how we deal death." She cocked her head. "Come, Herald. I'll take Caladbolg back to the Pale Tree, and then we'll find a way to make Mazdak pay."  
  
The Valiant nodded, passing the sword on to her. Branthyn slid it into a sheath on her back, specially made for just that purpose. She checked it was secure then gestured forward. "Now, let us be off and leave this wretched pit behind us."  
  
She went and they followed. Only once did they pause and look back to the pit. There was no way they could see the body at the bottom, but the image still lingered before their eyes.  
  
_Did the Firstborn tell us everything? They wondered. Why did Riannoc pick you for a squire, out of all the humans, all the peoples of Tyria? What did he hope to gain by allying himself with one such as you, Waine? Was it about gain at all? Who were you to him, really?_  
  
They could still see his eyes in his final moments. So many shadows, too many shadows, all smothering the smallest of amber flames.  
  
_Who were you, Waine, and what choices did you make that led you here?_  
  
No answer came. "I suppose I'll never know," they murmured, and then turned to follow Branthyn back to the Grove.  
  


❧❧❧

 

Trahearne stood by a lake in the Grove. Trees of all sizes and colours surrounded the water, the surface reflecting the glow of both plants and stars. Above the moon hung, shining pale in the cloudless night.  
  
Somewhere in the distance he could hear the sounds of his people. The sylvari had grown great in number, and the once quiet Grove now burst with life. Now the place were the Firstborn danced was gone, replaced with pools and paths and homes. Trahearne did not know if he mourned the loss.  
  
_Not so much that I would change it back._  
  
The thought did not stay with him. It drifted far, not quite touching the great stream where a thousand feelings not his own flowed. All was quiet, all was distant. The sounds of the Grove turned to a hum and lost their meaning, the hidden lake untouched by any save him.  
  
Save him and Riannoc.  
  
A memory came unbidden. Two young sylvari, their legs submerged in warm spring water, their hearts as bright as any had ever been. Trahearne closed his eyes and thought back, tried to capture the sweetness he'd once known.  
  
But instead all that came was unsought bitterness, its murk dripping from his heart to pool in his stomach.  
  
_I thought of Ronan,_ he remembered. _I thought of his life._  
  
The human hero had occupied his thoughts. He'd wondered what his life had been like before. The warmth of love, the joy of family, of knowing there was a home to come back to.  
  
_Before he went away. Before there was a war. Before he came home and learnt that home was there no more._  
  
He opened his eyes to look out over the water. _I'd thought of children. Of what they were, of how our people could never have them, of how we could never be them. Of how we could never know them._  
  
And yet they thought they could. Trahearne smiled but it was empty. There was no truth in it, though once there might have been. Now, though, it was only bitter.  
  
_As Waine was._  
  
Inside him things swirled, more things than he knew. Was it anger? Was it sorrow? Was it pain? Did he loathe Waine for what he'd done, or simply resent his own folly in raising the boy? Did he blame him for the betrayal? Or was that unfair?  
  
_I did not know. Two decades and I did not know he'd betrayed him. Or did I?_  
  
Where had it gone wrong? Whose fault was it? _Waine was a child, but in the end, were Riannoc and I anything more? We knew his fears, knew what he had been, but did we really?_  
  
Did it matter? Riannoc was dead. Waine was dead. Mazdak was dead and Caladbolg returned, and Trahearne lived on.  
  
_But it all came down to that one choice. The choice of a child._ He shook his head. _Which child?_  
  
Was it when Riannoc had given a broken boy a chance to be something more? _We gave him a chance and he came so close, but in the end he made his choice. And he became just the man we'd hoped he'd never be._  
  
Was it when Trahearne had failed to stop Riannoc going with Waine, was it when he had chosen Orr over his beloved? Or did it all truly lie on Waine's shoulders?  
  
Could he lay it there, that blame? On the shoulders of a child whose eyes he still remembered; too many shadows about fragile candlelight. _Riannoc lit that light and he did it with his own._  
  
Did he want to regret it? Those months with Riannoc and Waine, those last days they'd walked together?  
  
He shook his head and all his thoughts scattered. Somewhere a leaf fell and the lake's surface rippled.  
  
It didn't matter. Not now.  
  
_Now I am Ronan, and I must grow something beautiful from the graves of dead loves and dreams. I must come home to nothing and live._  
  
But perhaps that made the most sense. He had known from the moment he awakened that he was meant only for death. Just as Ronan's tale led to destruction so too did his.  
  
_I am not meant for children nor for love. I am meant only for dead things, and I should have always known._  
  
Every chance, every choice, it all led him here.  
  
"Trahearne?"  
  
He turned and saw Caithe. She moved silent through the trees, her heart as veiled in shadows as it had been since she'd stepped into the world.  
  
"Yes sister?"  
  
"The Mother Tree would speak with us."  
  
He nodded and she turned away, slipt back the way she'd come. He blinked and for a moment glimpsed Aife, in her dress of green, red, and gold.  
  
Then he opened his eyes and she was gone. A memory of — what, his childhood? The closest he could come to it.  
  
He turned back to the lake. Quiet, still. It rippled no more. All life had gone from its starry surface.  
  
_Of course,_ he thought, _I am meant only for dead things. Meant only for death._  
  
He turned and slipt back through the trees. But as the sounds grew louder and all the love and life of the Grove glittered beyond, candlelight seemed to blossom from the darkness of his mind.  
  
_But perhaps I have learnt enough of death to grow new life from what ashes remain._  
  
That, he thought, was his choice, and it was made of amber light and shadows.

**Author's Note:**

> I elected to stop this Pre-Heart of Thorns because Heart of Thorns never really factored into my original idea, and honestly, knowing what happens to Trahearne doesn't really change anything. Build something from the ashes, yeah?
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hoped you enjoyed it, and may life treat you kindly today.


End file.
